


monstrare

by Lise



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Fantastic Racism, Gen, Jötunheimr | Jotunheim, Loki Angst, Loki-centric, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-06 21:07:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11608977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lise/pseuds/Lise
Summary: Loki is Asgard's second prince, brother to Thor, son of Odin and Frigga.Isn't he?





	monstrare

**Author's Note:**

> An anon on Tumblr asked if I'd written anything about Loki's reaction to finding out that he's a Frost Giant, and I realized to my astonishment that I had not. So I wrote this. 
> 
> If I may be permitted some pretentious nerdery about the title: _monstrare_ is the Latin verb that derives from "monstrum" - hence, monster. It means "to show or point out" but also "to denounce or indict." The form in the title can be the infinitive of the verb, but also the passive singular second person, i.e. "you are shown/denounced."

_There’s been some mistake._

The thought that kept spinning in his head as he watched their death approach in the form of an army of Jotnar, as Odin swept in and whisked them away, as he stood on the Bifrost and watched Odin and Thor roar at each other. A child’s thought, a _prayer,_ weak and pathetic. 

_You didn’t see - what you thought you saw. It was a trick of the light. Maybe it didn’t really touch you._

Even more pathetic. He knew it had touched him. He’d felt its hand gripping his wrist and braced for the burn, but instead it was like a layer of flesh peeled away, his arm and fingers changing. The jotun had seen it too; he’d seen the surprise in its hideous red eyes and managed to react first even as his thoughts were racing ahead in leaps and bounds. 

Some thing of magic, perhaps, some innate defense of his power-

_Liar._ _Deny all you like; the truth was there, written on your skin._

Loki watched with dazed, distant horror as Odin cast Thor into the Void, stripping him of immortality, of strength, of power. Throwing him down.

_And this is how he treats his favored son,_ whispered the poisonous thought at the back of his mind. _What fate lies ahead of you?_ Selfish, to think of himself when it was Thor who was lost, and this was _not what he’d wanted,_ but some part of him was relieved.

Something ugly and awful was seething in his gut. A question he couldn’t stop asking and didn’t want answered. 

_What are you, Loki?_

_What are you?_

* * *

He seized a servant’s arm as he walked back to his rooms. “Bring ice to my quarters,” he said harshly. “Three buckets worth. No, four.” 

She looked at him nervously, and Loki wondered what his face looked like. Wild? Savage? (Monstrous?) “Yes, Prince Loki,” she said. “Immediately.” 

Loki nodded sharply and released her. Rumor would pass through the palace like a whirlwind, wondering about the second prince’s demand, but his reputation for eccentricity would (for once) serve him well. 

He closed the door of his rooms and sagged back against it, breathing hard. He raised one hand to push back through his hair and realized it was shaking. 

His hands. Loki studied them again, but they did not change. He could almost convince himself he _had_ imagined it. He kept thinking, desperately, trying to find some alternate explanation but his mind only provided him with evidence for the one thing he desperately did not want to be true. 

_You were often ill during the summers. You look nothing like Thor, or Odin, or Frigga. You have always been_ odd, _always been_ wrong, _always the less favored (ill-favored)._

_Who knows?_

Odin must know. He had to. Frigga as well. Thor? No, not Thor; Thor would never have abided living with...what he was. (Wasn’t. _You can’t be sure. Not yet._ ) Was this the source of the mistrust, the doubt, the hesitance to offer him the same rewards as Asgard’s golden son-

Because he wasn’t Asgard’s son at all. 

Nausea surged and Loki stumbled into the bathroom and vomited. His stomach heaved and clenched and he gagged, his eyes squeezed closed, nose burning. He pounded one fist against the warmed stones of the floor until he felt his knuckles split. 

It was impossible. Everyone knew that...they were ancestral enemies. The jotnar were beasts, animals, scarcely capable of civilization. Odin would never...he would _never._ It didn’t make _sense_ for Loki to be-

( _can you not even think it_ )

-to be jotun. One of the creatures that had haunted his nightmares as a boy. Thor’s voice: _I will hunt down the monsters and slay them all._

_Will you slay me, Thor?_ Loki thought wildly, and started laughing, laughter that turned into retching again. He was going to turn himself inside out. He felt feverish, shaky.

There was blood on the floor where he’d broken his hand open. Red. 

Jotnar bled blue. He’d seen enough of it to know that. 

He heard a knock on the door and jumped, part of him thinking wildly _they’ve found me, the guard is here to drag me out and cut off my head, they’re going to kill me I’m going to die,_ but then he remembered his request for ice. He needed to know. Needed to (didn’t want to) be sure. 

Loki paused. He could still turn around. Could still stop this and pretend he had seen nothing and convince himself that there was nothing wrong with him, that he wasn’t one of _them_ (a monster), that his life wasn’t one great lie crumbling under his feet. _Second prince of Asgard? Oh, no. Not you._

_What are you, if not that?_

Some crawling _thing,_ some _beast_ that had been brought into the bosom of Asgard for - for what purpose? What use? _Your father does nothing without cause,_ Frigga had said once when Loki was protesting the unfairness of some decision or another, and it was true, Loki knew that it was. What cause this, then, what _possible_ reason-

His mouth was full of saliva. Stumbling over to the door, Loki wrenched it open. “Bring them in,” he said simply, and stood back. Waiting until the door closed on the last face, unsuccessfully trying to hide his curiosity, Loki brought the buckets into the bathroom, one after the other, and poured them into the tub. 

_What happens if you’re right? What do you do then?_

Loki stuck both his arms into the ice, elbow-deep. It was cold, cold enough to make his bones ache. 

Nothing happened. 

Drawing back slowly, Loki examined his arms. Still just the same as they had been. Relief swept through him and he sagged forward with a fractured sound. It wasn’t true. Of _course_ it wasn’t true. What had he been _thinking?_

_No,_ whispered that poisonous voice at the back of his mind, cold and implacably certain. _It’s not cold enough. Their touch is cold enough to burn._

_Turn back. Stop now, just accept, let this go. You don’t need to know. What will you gain?_

Certainty. The truth, that elusive creature that every liar craved. The satisfaction of curiosity. 

Loki could feel himself fracturing. Didn’t want to believe it, but pieces were falling together, evidence ruthlessly accumulating, his mind laying it all out in front of him and forcing him to look. _You see._ Staggering to his feet, Loki went to splash his face in the sink and caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror. 

Pale, his eyes red-rimmed, the image of madness. 

Loki blinked and stared at the shattered looking-glass, splinters embedded in his hand. He backed away from it, a howl building in his chest that he swallowed back. 

He knew what he had to do. There was one way to be sure. 

_Please,_ Loki thought, staring at his broken reflection. _Let me be wrong._

Thor’s voice, again: _we can finish them together!_

_Please, Norns, be merciful. Let me be wrong._


End file.
